


the one named war has gone

by sawfilms



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: M/M, and me making it gay, canon typical stealing, have fun folks, in which speirs is war (the horseman), possessive speirs, protective speirs, this is based on me reading a fic someone did about speirs as war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-22 11:34:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22282237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sawfilms/pseuds/sawfilms
Summary: He always considered himself to be a good man. A man with values and morals, one that had more virtues than vices. War changes you, is what he decides after all is said and done, and the strangeness of it all makes him smile.OrWhere Lipton finds himself in war
Relationships: Carwood Lipton/Ronald Speirs
Comments: 9
Kudos: 89





	the one named war has gone

He always considered himself to be a good man. A man with values and morals, one that had more virtues than vices. _War changes you_ , is what he decides after all is said and done, and the strangeness of it all makes him smile.

* * *

Lipton had never seen something as incredible or as utterly _stupid_ as when Lieutenant Ronald Speirs took the daring sprint across enemy lines. He could hear George Luz’s sharp intake of breath behind him even over the gunfire as he muttered a disbelieving _‘what the hell is he doing?’_ to no one in particular. Lipton peers out from around the building and watches Speirs’ retreating form not entirely sure of what exactly he was witnessing.

He of course knew who Ronald Speirs was. To be friends with George Luz he was almost forced to know exactly who the man was and what rumors circled him like vultures on a hot summer day. They seemed to define the myth, not the man though, and Lipton had never been one for rumors himself. He always found that coming to his own conclusion about people was the best way to go about things. It didn’t help that the first time he interacts with the man was during a battle that seems to just prove every rumor to be true though.

Speirs runs like the Devil is hot on his heels, staring forward with a single-minded focus that was unnerving and awing at the same time, and Lipton can’t tear his gaze away as Speirs makes the charge alone. The Germans stop firing for an incredible second where they just stare at the American soldier dumbfounded before they get their wits about them and start shooting again, but the bullets don’t phase Speirs a bit. They miss him miraculously, not even nicking him once as he runs past tanks and infantry, and for a brief moment Lipton entertains the thought that Speirs may actually just _be_ superhuman.

He can hear Luz stammering into the radio but can’t quite make out what his friend was saying, too busy watching out with a pounding heart as the seconds ticked by - every moment that passed without seeing Speirs is a moment where the cold ice of dread solidified itself in Lipton’s gut. It feels like an eternity before he watches with wide eyes as Speirs leaps over the rubble where I Company was hunkered down and makes the daring sprint right back to where Lipton and Luz sat in wait.

The firing begins again, but just as before the bullets miss like Speirs wasn’t even there, and Lipton would recount this moment for many years to come with the same awe as he felt in that second, a grin spreading across his face that was just as wild as the one that split his lips when shells exploded around him in the Bois Jacques like the Fourth of July. The run back moves in slow motion, and something that must have been building in his chest for some time bursts and he can’t help the startled puff of laughter that makes Luz look at him with a perplexed expression.

His heart thuds against his ribs and his skin tingles with a warmth he hasn’t felt in months, his gaze immediately fixed on Speirs the moment the Lieutenant returns to their side and looks at the both of them to relay their new orders. What surprises Lipton though is when Speirs turns his gaze to look back at him, something glittering in those green hues that makes his breath catch and an emotion he can’t put his finger on flutter in his chest. But he stubbornly does not look away, and he thinks Speirs expects him to. When he doesn’t, Speirs’ lips twitch into something you could barely call a smile. It ignites something within him he doesn’t want to go out.

War smiles at Lipton, and Lipton smiles back.

* * *

Lipton can feel Speirs’s stare burning holes in the back of his neck after he pulls his own incredible stunt, drawing sniper fire in order for Shifty Powers to aim true. The thing that flared to life earlier burns even brighter at the thought.

* * *

Rachamps is Heaven after months of bitter cold, the wooden pews the men situated themselves in a blessing compared to the hard earth they’d become accustomed to for so long. They doze, huddled together as if to make up for the gaping vacancies left in their numbers, heads resting against shoulders, gazes unfocused or fixed on the choir that sang a song that some understood but others simply assumed its meaning.

George Luz snored softly next to Lipton, who had just pocketed the list of losses and stood with a soft groan as his joints cracked and his body shuddered, eyes shutting momentarily before opening again as he scans the convent and studies the faces of the men he’s come to see as brothers. He leans against the end of the pew and crosses his arms over his chest, shifting so he’s comfortable before settling and letting his tensed muscles relax. He isn't aware that he’s closed his eyes again until they open at the sound of shifting fabric next to him, and he turns his head to see who had moved.

In a dimmer lighting Speirs’s facial features were more relaxed and his eyes almost seemed to glow in the candlelight, Lipton noting how that even with the events of the past few days Speirs looked incredibly calm and unaffected by it all. He wondered briefly if it was just a mask or if Speirs really didn’t mind combat. It wasn’t a long time that he stared at Speirs, but it felt like hours that he did. Studying the shape and lines of his face, tracing the sharp angle of his jaw and slight furrow of his brow as he read something on the papers he held in his hand, being strangely drawn to the unnatural green of his eyes.

He doesn’t realize he’s been caught until those green eyes were suddenly fixed solely on him and that same glint that he saw in Foy makes his heart skip a beat, Lipton turning away quickly and shifting his crossed arms over his chest, clearing his throat as if he hadn’t just been staring intently at his new commanding officer. He can feel Speirs’ gaze burning into him, and he steadfastly tries to ignore it until the man speaks for the first time since Foy. His voice makes Lipton look up, sounding softer and more human now that there was no battle and no orders to be given.

“I’m not sure what you find so intriguing, First Sergeant,” Speirs says with a voice that settles over Lipton’s mind like smooth silk, making him shift a little before responding.

“Nothing, Sir,” he says, and the way Speirs studies him carefully tells him that the man sees right through his lie. But he doesn’t press, humming under his breath as he handed the papers to Lipton. He takes them wordlessly and slips them into his jacket, watching as Speirs stands and gathers his things saying something about getting back to Battalion before they disappear. Then Speirs is looking at him again with that same little upturn of his lips that makes Lipton’s thoughts come to a screeching halt.

Speirs looks at him the way someone would look at a fascinating discovery, studying him and looking like he’s found something truly extraordinary, though he isn’t quite sure why. He barely caught the tail end of what Speirs is saying to him in his observation of the man’s expression. Something about the rumors, if Lipton wanted to know if they were true or not. He doesn’t answer, Speirs continuing on with his train of thought as he picks up his pack and gear.

“I bet if you went back two thousand years, you'd hear a couple of centurions standing around.. _yakking_ about how Tertius lopped off the heads of some Carthaginian prisoners.”

It takes him a moment to register what Speirs said, not sure if he was more surprised at the comparison or at the fact Speirs seemed to know so much about Roman history. For a moment he thinks that Speirs’s eyes look a little older than they had been just a moment ago, but then he blinks and the youth returns with that glitter in tow. Lipton can’t help the small smile that curls his lips as he responds.

“Well,” he begins, staring at a crack in the floor as he does, ”maybe they kept talking about it because they never heard Tertius deny it.”

This seems to take Speirs aback slightly, something in his expression shifting from amusement to surprise, and then to something like curiosity - like Lipton was once again a specimen under a microscope, and he shifts under the scrutiny as he watches Speirs shoulder his Thompson and make his way over to where Lipton is leaned against the pew. They stand now face to face, a respectable distance apart, but Lipton can’t figure out why the gap between them felt so unnervingly large.

Speirs studies him for a long moment before he replies.

“Well, maybe that's because Tertius knew there was some value to the men thinking he was the meanest, toughest son of a bitch in the whole Roman Legion.”

They stare at each other for what feels like forever before Speirs gives him a smile unlike the ones from before and then turns to leave, head bowed slightly as if he were deep in thought. Something urges Lipton to stand then, to call Speirs back, to see that searching gaze in those eyes just one more time, and when he calls out to Speirs he’s surprised to see the man pause, head cocked to the side momentarily before he turns again - slowly - and makes his way back to Lipton, his expression shifting to something Lipton can’t quite read but makes him repress a shudder all the same. They’re much closer now, close enough that Lipton can see the reflection of the candlelight in Speirs’s eyes, see the way his brows raise in question.

_(He notes that they’re almost precisely the same height.)_

It feels like he’s going off-script when he finally speaks, but means every word all the same.

“I, ah-.. I’ve never been one for rumors, sir,” he starts, Speirs’ expression not changing as he does, “I’ve always been one to formulate my own opinion based on reality. Not stories.”

Speirs watches him closely and Lipton wets his lips nervously out of habit, continuing when Speirs still doesn’t speak.

“The men.. They may care about the stories, I’d wager to say they’re more of a suspicious bunch than I could _ever_ be, but” he clears his throat, darting his gaze away briefly before going on, “I can say that they’re also happy to have you as our CO.. Happy to have a good _leader_ again..” He pauses, then adds softly, “..as am I.”

Speirs stays quiet for a few seconds more, expression softening now as if he was seeing Lipton in a new light.

“Well, from what I’ve heard, they’ve always had one,” Speirs says, looking thoughtful as he does, making Lipton glance back at the other man in confusion. “I've been told there's always been one man they could count on. Led them into the Bois Jacques, held them together when they had the crap shelled out of them in the woods..” Lipton doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone smile with their eyes before, but Speirs does as he looks at Lipton. “Every day, he kept their spirits up, kept the men _focused_ , gave 'em _direction_... all the things a good combat leader does.” He thinks he can detect a tone of pride in Speirs’ voice when he says this, making him even more confused as to who Speirs could be referring to.

He looks away from Speirs and goes over name after name of men that could be the one deserving of such genuine praise from the lieutenant, but every name he comes up with he immediately rules out when he remembers that each man he thinks of has been gone for so long it makes his heart ache at the thought of them. Speirs must see his dilemma because he just huffs and speaks again.

“You don’t have any idea who I’m talking about, do you?” he says with a smile that reaches his eyes. Lipton blinks a couple times before responding honestly.

“No, sir,” he mutters. The smile Speirs wears turns into a grin now, but not the menacing one Lipton would hear about sometimes. This one was light and fond, downright _friendly._

He doesn’t miss the laughter in Speirs’s voice when he replies, “hell, it was you, First Sergeant,” and certainly doesn’t miss the way his eyes seem to brighten at Lipton’s reaction to the praise.

Before Speirs leaves, he informs Lipton of his commission, and Lipton can definitely hear an air of pride in his tone this time as he does. Lipton feels whatever was ignited in him flare in response to the pride, and it warms him to his core.

Lipton nods at Speirs before he turns away, and War responds in kind.

* * *

The way Speirs hovers over him like his very own cloud in Haguenau makes Lipton curious as to what exactly the newly promoted Captain thought he was protecting his Lieutenant from. Speirs couldn’t physically wrestle with pneumonia, but the way those green eyes of his studied Lipton’s own bleary hazel ones, he had to wonder if Speirs saw something he didn’t.

It’s one night when he awakes from a fitful sleep as coughs rip through his lungs and leave a bloody tang in the back of his throat that he starts to notice something peculiar about Captain Speirs.

Not that Speirs wasn’t odd in his own way, but this gave Lipton pause even in his current state. He’d been ordered to take the only bed, Speirs taking the floor ignoring Lipton’s hoarse protests as he settles down using his pack as a pillow. Eventually Lipton relents and dozes for a while only to be woken by the rattling coughs that have been plaguing him for so many days and nights. Every cough sets off a bright flash of light behind his eyes and he can barely pull in enough air to cough it out again, wheezing and whimpering as his throat aches and his chest burns, his body trembling and shaking from chills that make his teeth chatter.

Arms wrapping around his middle startle him into another coughing fit that brings tears to his eyes. He barely registers a hand pressed firmly against his chest and a face pressed against his own as Lipton was held securely with his back to someone else’s chest. The hand on his front massages where his lungs would be and he feels soft puffs of breath against the fevered skin of his temple, murmurs Lipton can’t make out being pressed into his damp hair as the coughing subsides and he drifts back into a semi state of consciousness. The world around him becomes a little clearer and he can decipher the words being mumbled against his skin, recognizing the voice almost immediately but still not understanding what was being said.

“ _Don’t take him from me,_ ” Speirs breathes, and Lipton can feel the other man shaking just slightly now as well. “ _Not now, not when I’ve only just found him. Don’t take him. I can’t- I-_ ” He finds himself leaning his head back against Speirs’s shoulder against his better judgement, and Speirs stops, every movement pausing for just a moment. Then he shifts slightly and turns his head as if he was checking to see if Lipton was alright.

Lipton pretends to sleep and this seems to satisfy Speirs, who shifts again and holds Lipton against him in a possessive embrace that, in any other circumstances, would have made him hot under the collar. But in that moment he only feels secure and safe, which for a time afterwards he explains away as his fevered mind running away with itself. After a long period of silence broken only by scattered gunfire across the river, Speirs speaks again, voice no longer trembling and desperate, but stony and sure in a way that makes Lipton’s stomach flip and eyes eyes flutter open briefly before closing again.

“ _I won’t let you have him._ ”

Lipton finally falls asleep wondering if Speirs’s eyes had ever been that black before.

* * *

Over the next few nights, this becomes almost like a routine between them. Lipton would wake from the coughs that wracked his body and Speirs would move silently behind him and pull him to his chest, muttering to him until the fit subsided and he was lulled into an in between state of consciousness and slumber as Speirs continued to whisper promises and comforts into his ear. It comes to a head one night when Lipton wakes in Speirs’s arms and sees the man staring intensely into the far corner of the room.

When Lipton turns his head and blinks to clear his vision, he thinks he catches a glimpse of a deathly thin silhouette lurking in the shadows just beyond his field of vision. Speirs notices Lipton staring now too and his hold tightens around Lipton, mumbling ‘ _go back to sleep, Carwood’_ softly in his ear. Lipton’s too tired to think about how Speirs used his name instead of his rank, easily falling back asleep on command.

* * *

By some strange miracle, Lipton recovers and he’s back on his feet within a couple days of being deemed healthy by the medic - who understandably looks absolutely _baffled_ by the complete turnaround in Lipton’s condition. Not long after, his commission comes in and he’s suddenly shaking hands with Dick Winters and Lewis Nixon, joking awkwardly with Harry Welsh who playfully scolds Lipton for calling him ‘sir’ when by all means they were equals now. He catches Luz’s eye off to the side and they nod to each other, expressions mirror images of glee that shone in their eyes. The one person he’s focused on the most however is Speirs, who was watching him with the same searching look he had back in Rachamps, but this time Lipton doesn’t shy away, meeting Speirs’s gaze when the man pats his shoulder and leads him away from the small gathering of officers and off into a side room where Speirs closes the door silently behind them and shifts a little on his feet like he can’t decide what to do next.

Lipton watches Speirs quietly, patiently, and waits for the other to move or to speak. Speirs doesn’t though, hovering quietly by the door with his hand still clutching the knob tightly as if at any second he’d flee like a spooked deer. So Lipton speaks instead, his voice still a little rough from the lingering dregs of illness that clung to him like cigarette smoke.

“I never thanked you,” Lipton says, clearing his throat when his voice catches and breaks. This makes Speirs glance up and furrow his brow slightly.

“For?” he asks, sounding slightly confused. It’s almost uncharacteristic of Speirs to look so skittish, so nervous, so unsure of something, and it brings a small smile to Lipton’s face as he responds.

“For doing whatever you did to help me.” Speirs jerks in surprise and straightens up as he stares at Lipton with slight alarm before relaxing, clenching his jaw and looking away.

“I didn’t do anything,” Speirs says simply, and Lipton huffs because he’s not naive. He takes a couple steps closer, as if approaching a wild animal, and reaches a hand out to Speirs, who stares at the extended offer as if he’s never seen anything like it. Speirs hesitates before reaching out to meet Lipton, their hands clasped as if they were to shake on something, but they stay unmoving and the tension between them almost snaps.

Lipton takes Speirs’s hand, and War holds on tighter.

* * *

Lipton begins to wonder just who Ron Speirs was when he looks Death in the eyes and Death regards him as an old friend.

Landsberg felt like a nightmare that every man just wanted to wake up from, walking numbly through the camp and looking on at the scene before them with a mix of horror and anger, unsure how to process just what they all were seeing right before their very eyes. Skeletons wandered past the men, some stopping to lean against someone for support, others pulling soldiers into embraces that feel so brittle the men don’t want to even blink in fear that the thin frames would shatter and turn to dust in their arms.

Lipton was leaning heavily against a crude excuse for a fence pole, not trusting himself to hold his own weight, when he hears someone approaching. He almost immediately can tell that it isn’t one of the men or the hundreds of prisoners wandering aimlessly through the enclosed area, so he reaches for his service pistol and moves to turn when a voice stops him that sounds more brittle than bone.

“You look much healthier than the last time we met,” Lipton hears almost whispered to him and an ice cold chill runs up his spine, settling heavily in the pit of his stomach. He’s never heard a voice so devoid of life in all his years, and something about it makes his body suddenly feel just as weak as it had been in Haguenau. He lifts his head, still gripping the hilt of his gun and meets the steel gaze of a man much too thin to be healthy, eyes sunken into their sockets and skin so pallid he wonders if he’s looking at the undead.

As if reading Lipton’s mind, the man wheezes softly in what Lipton can only assume to be a chuckle and speaks again. “You’re so very close, but so very far at the same time, my boy. Very observational you are, I see why my brother has taken such a liking to you.” The man glances around him, as if looking for something, then speaks again. “You must know that War and Death come hand in hand, yes?” the man asks, and Lipton finds himself nodding slowly before he can stop himself. He’s trembling, weak like the man’s very presence is sapping the life from him. If he listens closely enough he can hear Skip Muck’s laughter in the distance, which makes him pause.

 _No, that can’t be right,_ he thinks with a small frown. Muck was _dead_. The man grins and Lipton cringes when he sees that the man’s teeth are crooked and rotten. _Like a corpse._

Lipton opens his mouth to speak, but hears his name being called from somewhere across the way. He takes a quick glance back to the man, but when he turns he finds that the man is gone - like he hadn’t been there at all. Lipton blinks a couple times and it takes him a moment to realize he feels much better than he had just been feeling a second ago. With a shiver, he walks over to where Luz was waiting with a frail looking man who’s clothing hung off him like rags. He tries to ignore the feeling of being watched the rest of the time Easy Company is in Landsberg.

* * *

Later that night, when the men are squared away and settled the best they can be after the day’s revelations, Lipton finds himself sitting next to an open window with his eyes closed and his face turned towards the slight breeze that plays against his skin like a whisper. He doesn’t open his eyes when the door to his room opens and he hears familiar footsteps approaching him, coming to a halt just behind him. Speirs and Lipton stay in silence as they both process what they’ve seen in the company of no one but themselves before Lipton finally opens his eyes and turns to look at Speirs, who he discovers is already looking right back. They stare at each other, not unlike a night so very long ago in a convent so very far away from where they sat now, Speirs’s eyes glittering in the way that makes Lipton burn from something other than fever.

Their gazes are held even as Lipton moves, slowly getting to his feet and turning so he and Speirs are facing each other not unlike they had that long ago night in that far away place where the choir sang and the candles burned like the thing that was ignited in his heart. They don’t look away from another as Speirs lifts a tentative hand to rest on the side of Lipton’s face, thumb brushing just barely against the raised scar that lined his cheek, making Lipton’s eyes flutter shut briefly before opening again. Speirs is watching him with that searching look again, but now Lipton can detect something else. Something deeper and more profound swimming in those green depths, and he realizes just how much he wants to find out what that something was.

Death spoke to Lipton like a friend. War regarded Lipton like a spoil of his own making.

* * *

Germany was a green paradise that no one expected to find in a place so shrouded in hate. They arrive rumbling in army jeeps with the men hanging out of the windows to reach out and touch the German women that flocked the American GI’s as they entered the country for the first and final time. Lipton can’t help but marvel at how clear the blue sky really was.

Berchtesgaden is eerily quiet, and Lipton feels Speirs shift just slightly next to him in the jeep they shared as they passed by flag poles bearing the white of surrender, though they both knew the real flag they were made to fly. The quiet passes as quickly as it came though and Speirs visibly relaxes, the men leaping from the cars and jeeps and getting to work immediately, already beginning to rifle through houses and other buildings in order to make the abandoned village more like home for the time being.

Things fell into a rhythm after that, the men becoming accustomed to their new surroundings little by little and becoming just as rambunctious - if not more - as before. Speirs takes to looting, though Lipton has a feeling that it’s more to keep his hands busy than for value now that there was no fighting to be heard of in the green green grass of Germany. Lipton spends as much time with his boys as he can, mostly hanging around Luz and Malarkey when he could, but more often than not found himself trailing after Speirs as the man ransacked anything he could reach with the same single-minded focus Lipton remembered from what felt like a lifetime ago.

One morning he wakes to find Speirs sitting in a chair next to the window, early morning sun casting a golden hue across his skin and making his already bright green eyes shimmer like emeralds as he stares out at the town below them. Lipton shifts where he lays on the floor and finds himself admiring how the sunlight made Speirs look younger.

Speirs must have sensed him staring because he glances over and meets Lipton’s gaze with a small smile, one that Lipton secretly treasures because it’s only ever reserved for him in moments alone. He likes to think that Speirs feels the same. They stare at each other for a moment before Lipton speaks, voice rough and low from sleep and he yawns in the middle of his sentence, making the smile on Speirs’s lips grow wider.

“How long have you been s- _s-_ ” a yawn, Lipton scrubs at his face before continuing, “sitting there, sir?” Speirs huffs softly in amusement.

“Long enough, _Lieutenant_ ,” he hums, making Lipton flush a little. It’s habit to refer to Speirs as a superior, so when Lipton slips up Speirs always manages to catch him on it. “Winters stopped by earlier, something about going to see the Eagle’s Nest today.” He grins when Lipton perks up a bit at that. “I’ll take that as you wanting to tag along.”

Lipton had heard about the Eagle’s Nest perched high up the top of a mountain, it being a birthday present for Hitler who - _hilariously_ \- was afraid of heights. It wasn’t like the man had much use for it anymore, being _dead_ and all, and Lipton truthfully did want to explore it some. So, he nods at Speirs and moves to stand, quickly getting ready and following Speirs out the door and out into the sunlight that had so wonderfully bathed the man next to him in a warm glow that made the thing ignited in his heart flare and flutter.

The Eagle’s Nest, Lipton finds, is about as interesting as a mountaintop headquarters could get on the inside. There was a hexagonal main room with other rooms branching off to the sides, which Lipton found were libraries and bedrooms with lavish bedspreads and furniture he couldn’t help but admire. But, along with the other officers, Lipton found himself on the balcony lounging in the sunlight as Nixon and Harry drank and played cards together, Winters leaning against the stone balcony looking on at the game with a fond smile, and Speirs-

Lipton’s gaze founds Speirs, who was leaned against the barrier as well a little further away from the main group staring out at the mountains with an unreadable expression. Lipton glanced over at the other three and found them preoccupied, so he stands and makes his way over to Speirs, who speaks the moment Lipton gets close enough.

“They say Easy will be shipped over to the Pacific once things end here,” Speirs murmurs without looking away from the vast expanse of sky before them. Lipton doesn’t find that view the most interesting thing at that moment, watching Speirs quietly as the man seems to mull over something in his head. When Lipton doesn’t respond, Speirs finally moves his gaze to Lipton, who finds himself transfixed by those green eyes once again. He sees something in them - something begging to be released, something being held back and he can tell it’s something that isn’t in Speirs’s nature to do, so all Lipton does is reach out and take Speirs’s hand in his between them where the others couldn’t see and give the other man a small smile he hopes conveys what he wants to say.

Speirs seems to understand completely by the way his eyes glitter in the sunlight.

* * *

He finds his courage the night before Easy Company is set to leave Berchtesgaden for Austria to ask what had been waiting just below the surface since the first night in Haguenau.

The men were celebrating the end of the war in the parlor below, music floating through the open window as loud cheering and clinking glasses followed. Lipton had joined them briefly, but when he notices Speirs slip away halfway through the night, he bids Luz and Malarkey goodnight and follows the Captain up the stairs into their billet, where the man was standing next to the window watching as some of the celebrations carried out into the streets. Lipton closes the door behind him making Speirs turn and regard him with a strange expression.

“You aren’t with the men,” Speirs says, not a question but a statement, and Lipton just shrugs and walks over to him. He stops just next to Speirs and looks out the window as well, smiling a little when he sees Frank Perconte being pulled along by a German woman who, among many others, had been invited as guests to the festivities. He hears Speirs scoff quietly under his breath, then turn away from the window. Lipton looks over at him and raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t think you should be so put off by Perconte’s antics, s-” Speirs cuts Lipton off.

“War doesn’t _end_ , Carwood,” he says, making Lipton pause at the use of his name. Speirs was staring at the carpet blankly, but something in the way Speirs stood told Lipton more than words could say. They fall into silence again for a moment before Lipton finally finds the right words to respond.

“No, it doesn’t,” he begins carefully, watching as Speirs twitches a little at the words. “One war ends, and eventually another begins-” Speirs is shaking his head, clenching his jaw and flexing his fingers against his pant legs like he’s holding himself back from either hitting or holding Lipton - he’s not quite sure which. The record player below scratches and some of the men boo and jeer before someone switches it out and The Andrews Sisters begins to play to a chorus of wolf whistles and cheering, but Lipton wasn’t smiling at the men anymore. Speirs was staring steadfastly at a spot on the carpet, and Lipton knew he wouldn’t be dragging much out of the man in this state, so he reaches a hand out and places it on Speirs’s shoulder, making him start and lift his head to look at Lipton.

His eyes are wide and confused, lost like a man with no direction, and something in Lipton twists painfully at the sight. So, he finally asks what he’s wanted to ask for so long, since he watched Speirs run across Foy.

“What is war to you, Speirs?” Lipton asks quietly, and Speirs tenses further, eyes widening even more, before he shifts and stands up straight.

“What is it?” Speirs repeats, and Lipton nods. He expects a lot, expects a litany of answers, even expects to be brushed off entirely. He doesn’t expect to be suddenly pushed back and crowded up against the wall, hands on either side of his head and a thigh between his legs making his breath hitch in his throat and his face burn red. His eyes are wide as he stares at Speirs, who is suddenly so close yet so agonizingly far, and Speirs stares right back at him, letting the tips of their noses brush just barely and make them both exhale and Lipton shudder. Something had been building between them since Foy, since Rachamps, and he knew it was only a matter of time before the dam broke and everything came flooding to the surface and he drowned. His lips part and Speirs’s gaze is drawn to the action, eyes flicking down briefly before moving back to stare at Lipton once again. “Do you want to know what war is, Carwood?” Speirs says, and Lipton finds himself nodding again, shifting minutely against Speirs’s thigh.

Then Speirs is kissing him and it’s _everything_ and _nothing_ like he’s ever dreamed of all at once. Speirs kisses like he’s claiming and Lipton is eager to let him, kissing back with everything he has within him, the hand on Speirs’s shoulder moving to tangle through thick dark locks of hair and pulling _just so_ and the noise Speirs makes in response spurs Lipton on, parting his lips and gasping when Speirs immediately deepens the kiss. He's panting into Speirs’s mouth, a soft noise rising in the back of his throat when Speirs shifts against him and presses his thigh a little firmer between Lipton’s legs.

“ _War_ ,” Speirs rasps, dragging his lips along Lipton’s jaw, kissing and biting everywhere he can reach making Lipton squirm against him desperately, “is heated, it’s _passionate_ ,” he sucks a mark at Lipton’s pulse point and Lipton’s hips twitch against Speirs’, whose hands were already undoing buttons and clasps on Lipton's jacket and shoving it aside, it falling to the floor being just an obstacle between Speirs and his goal. “It takes and it takes and it _takes-_ ”

Speirs yanks his shirt from where its tucked into his pants, Lipton helping and pulling it over his head and tossing it to the side, panting as Speirs seems to take in the sight of Lipton shirtless in front of him for a moment before diving back in. Lipton's moaning breathlessly as Speirs kisses a blazing trail down his now bared chest before moving back up and pressing against him again in a way that makes both of them groan and cling to each other as they move in sync, made for this as much as they were made for battle.

Lipton finally gets his wits about him and shoves at Speirs’s jacket, already unbuttoned, and pulls the collar of Speirs's own shirt to drag him back in for a searing kiss that makes Lipton weak in the knees. He tugs Speirs's shirt free with one hand, the other tangled through Speirs’s hair and pulling at the strands as they kiss, Lipton inhaling sharply when Speirs bites his lower lip hard enough to draw blood before pulling back and mouthing at his jaw once more. He gets shirt free, pulling it up and over Speirs's head and tosses it to the side before fumbling with the buttons of Speirs's OD's, hands trembling and his breaths shaky as Speirs kisses down his neck again, mumbling against heated skin.

“War is _unforgiving_ ,” he accentuates this by tugging Lipton forward sharply by the hips, making Lipton gasp and forget what he was doing briefly, head falling forward, “it’s _destructive_ and it leaves everything in its path in _ruin-_ ” Lipton’s smoothing his hands over Speirs's bare front, relishing in the soft hiss Speirs lets out from the touch and grinning when Speirs bites Lipton’s shoulder in response, sure to leave a mark.

The ignited thing in his heart flares brighter and hotter than it ever has before, and somehow Speirs knows because he pulls Lipton into a kiss that bruises. They fumble for a moment before Speirs lifts Lipton into his arms, Lipton wrapping his legs around Speirs’s waist immediately, and carries him to the bed where they both collapse in a tangled heap, Speirs’s face pressed into the crook of Lipton’s neck and Lipton’s legs still wrapped loosely around Speirs’s waist. Then things calm for a moment and they’re left breathing heavily against each other, still heated and wanting but not going any further for just that brief moment. After a pause, Lipton turns his head and brushes his lips against the shell of Speirs’s ear, making the man on top of him shudder and press against him more, and mutters breathlessly the thing he’s wondered most of all.

“Can you fall in love with war?” Lipton breathes out, and when Speirs lifts his head, his eyes are black as night. It’s a sight that should have scared him, but it makes him lean his head up and press their foreheads together, threading his fingers through Speirs’s hair once more and Speirs almost _purrs._ Then they’re kissing again, Speirs muttering against his lips.

“Men more foolish have tried.” They descend into the heat that War brings together.

* * *

He’s reminded faintly of Haguenau, held in the arms of his now lover as they rest together, pressed close and kissing what bare skin they can reach lazily once in a while. It makes him huff, to which Speirs shifts and looks down at him with a quirked brow, green eyes glittering in that curious way Lipton has decided he loves.

“What’s so funny?” Speirs asks, watching Lipton with a fond expression as his hand runs lightly up and down his bare side, Lipton shivering pleasantly at the feeling.

“I was just thinking,” he says, pressing his face to the junction where Speirs’s neck and shoulder meet and kissing at a purpled mark there making Speirs almost preen at the attention, “how the first time you held me was in Haguenau when I was sick.”

Speirs is quiet, thoughtful, fingertips tapping a gentle rhythm against Lipton’s skin. “I told them that they wouldn’t have you,” he says after a moment, and Lipton doesn’t have to ask who he means. Green meets hazel and Lipton blinks up at his lover, Speirs continuing softly as they look at each other. “Not while I walk the Earth.”

Death speaks to Lipton like an old friend, Pestilence watches Lipton from afar like a begrudged acquaintance. War holds Lipton in his arms like a lover.

Carwood Lipton looks at Ron Speirs, and War looks back.

**Author's Note:**

> this was COMPLETELY inspired by a fic i read on here that wrote speirs as the horseman war and i could not stop thinking about it for the life of me, so here yall go  
> ( i might do a speirs pov of this if people like it enough, so please leave comments and such! <3 )


End file.
